


like a rock that's been changed by the ocean (or a shipwreck lost out at sea)

by serenitysea



Series: in our story of riddles and poems (every word that you speak tastes like stone) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heartbreak, Love, fix it fic sort of, mid season finale feels, s3 spec, these feels are nothing we were ever trained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ward tries to save the woman he loves. (spoiler alert: it doesn't end well.)</p><p>*</p><p>“this isn’t a zombie apocalypse, ward.”</p><p>no. it’s <i>so</i> much worse.</p><p>and he selfishly refuses to let her go it alone. because he knows for a certainty that his life is not worth living unless she’s in it. which is why he’s concocted this stupendously ill-advised plan that may very well cause more havoc than any trace of good. and why he can’t be trusted with total accountability – he is so very compromised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a rock that's been changed by the ocean (or a shipwreck lost out at sea)

**Author's Note:**

> YOU GUYS ASKED FOR THIS YOU WANTED THIS SEQUEL.

he wakes up feeling sunlight on his face.

which should be wrong, because he hasn’t seen the sun since before they left for that godforsaken planet where dead men roam like it’s their playground and –

he wakes up and suddenly, there is no _mistaking_ the sunlight on his face.

then the rest of the world comes crashing down on him.

_cold; the kind of cold that **burned**. skye. the kiss that brought him back. **death**. _

he puts his head in his hands and for the first time in a long time (maybe even his entire life), grant ward has absolutely no idea what to do next.

*

even as he’s walking there, he knows it’s a mistake.

knows that there is literally no way that this doesn’t end with a fist to his jaw or a gun to his head or even a bullet somewhere in his body.

and he knows that he doesn’t have a choice.

which is why he takes the seat across from fitz and waits for the explosion to come.

fitz, of course, does not disappoint.

except his reaction is… _troubling_.

“we’ve got to get you out of here,” the engineer insists, frantically scanning the cafe. he throws a few bills on the table and only looks back to glance at him impatiently. “you coming or what?”

ward makes it around the corner before he’s got fitz up against the building in a firm hold.

“ _what the hell_?” fitz chokes out, scrabbling frantically for purchase, legs kicking wildly.

“why aren’t you trying to kill me?”

as far as openers go, he’s had worse.

(none that immediately come to mind, but. he’s sure of it.)

“you’re supposed to be dead,” fitz says, wheezing for breath with a glare that borders just on the edge of being exasperated with the kind of nostalgia that _stings_. “obviously you’re _not_ , and _she’s_ gone – now would you put me down and let me help?”

shocked beyond words, ward drops him without any apparent warning and fitz goes stumbling to the ground.

“thanks for nothing,” the younger man grumbles, taking his stupefaction in stride. “can’t even get a decent meal before dead people start accosting in public.”

somehow – _somehow_ – ward resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. (it is a very near thing.)

“what do you know about her?”

fitz gapes at him. “you’re _kidding_ , right? you were the one who spent six months trapped inside that thing. that’s supposed to be _my_ question.”

ward opens his mouth to argue even as he’s thinking back to what he remembers – and then everything goes black.

*

when he comes to, there isn’t sunlight on his face.

there is, however, a penlight shining brightly in his eyes.

he squints, shoving the thing away with sluggish reflexes and notes, with some concern, that they’ve somehow ended up in a loft he’s never seen before.

fitz gives the space a quick once over. “well i wasn’t going to just _leave_ you there on the street.”

“thanks,” ward croaks, all too aware that it is far more than he deserves.

he glances down at his hands. “you sure you want to do this? try to save her?”

“i wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for her.”

a different memory this time; _bullets sucking the life from him slowly and the crushing weight of his former boss pushing into his chest until the ribs surrounding his lungs collapsed, splintering into organs and ripping destruction beneath the surface_.

“right.” fitz is clenching his jaw tightly enough that the tendons in his neck jump out in stark relief, and ward is suddenly so very tired of all; of the way the game is played, and the constantly switching allegiances and the hidden agendas. he longs for simpler times when the biggest issue was the indiscriminate disposal of a sandwich in the attempt to (hopefully) save their lives.

“look, you don’t have to –”

“– oh don’t be such a bloody martyr, ward.” fitz pushes a tall glass of water in his hands, along with a vial of what appear to be… _smelling salts_? “we both know you’re going to keep pushing back on those memories until you unlock whatever it is you need to save her so i’d like to minimize the bloodguilt on my hands in that regard.” 

his jaw must be dropped open by the engineer’s pragmatic summation because fitz continues, “it doesn’t mean we’re friends or anything, but. that was a terrible way to go out.” his eyes are steady as he continues, “maybe this is my way of trying to make it right.”

*

it only takes a day for them to cobble together a really idiotic plan.

they don’t have time for anything else.

there are already reports of a dark haired woman leaving small towns and moderately populated cities devastated in her wake.

just prior to leaving for good, fitz squints at him. “you know this is the worst plan you’ve ever had, right?”

“almost as bad as letting you talk our way out of enemy territory in a foreign land?”

“bring her back safe. i’ll see you both tomorrow.” the blind faith fitz has always held is equal parts reassuring and damning.

“if we don’t make it, you have to promise me that you’ll take us out.”

fitz rolls his eyes. “this isn’t a zombie apocalypse, ward.”

no. it’s _so_ much worse.

and he selfishly refuses to let her go it alone. because he knows for a certainty that his life is not worth living unless she’s in it. which is why he’s concocted this stupendously ill-advised plan that may very well cause more havoc than any trace of good. and why he can’t be trusted with total accountability – he is so very compromised.

it is all he can do to repeat the order to fitz, his throat tight with so much regret. “promise me.”

fitz shrugs restlessly, the way he does when faced with an equation he doesn’t like. “right.”

it isn’t the guarantee that ward is hoping for – but it’s all he’s going to get.

“thank you.”

fitz closes the door firmly as he leaves. he doesn’t say goodbye.

(probably just as well.)

*

he knows she is terrible.

he’s prepared, this time.

prepared to see the way that death slithers under her skin and through the landscape of her body like it has every right to roam where it pleases. she moves with the kind of lethal grace that skye had never been able to achieve, no matter how much training she’d had. he had seen footage of her, of her abilities and what she could do as _daisy_ – and of course, seeing it firsthand had been impressive as hell – but it was nothing compare to this.

it was never like this.

now she moves like a shadow assassin; like she doesn’t need to shift the mountains beneath their feet because she’s always ten steps ahead of their best move. she glides to the only path – not the one of least resistance because there _is_ no resistance against her – worth taking, regardless of who or what stands in her way. she’s a whirling dervish of limbs, deadly intent flung wide and deep until bodies lay at her feet by the hundreds.

and still she is not appeased.

this is an utterly hopeless plan. he only has one shot and he can’t afford to miss.

her eyes glitter with promise and something _else_ as he stands in front of her, hands held up in surrender. 

“i’m not going to fall for this lovers’ trade again,” she declares, eyes cataloging everything about him. it should be unsettling, he should be wary and concerned with the almost _hungry_ way she watches him, the intent behind her gaze and the promise in the dark curl of her lips – but he’s banking on that greed and lust for power to keep her occupied against all odds.

“i wouldn’t expect you to,” he steps closer, boldly inserting himself into the danger zone. he’s almost close enough for her to reach out and grab him. it would take precious little effort for her to snap his neck, especially now that death feeds off the inhuman power formerly stored within skye’s body.

“there’s nothing you can offer me.”

ward lets all of his fears go.

he thinks of the day they first met, how boldly defiant she’d been to the very last. how she would brazen her way through almost every conversation, barging into things with clearance levels and security protocols like it was no big deal for her. how she rolled with the punches no matter what life threw at her. _how she believed in him when no one else would, regardless of the cost._

“really?” ward closes the distance between them until he can scarcely believe she’s going to allow him to put a hand on her back, and draw her against him firmly. “nothing at all?”

he doesn’t kiss her.

he can’t.

it has to be her move, it has to be her play.

she has to _want_ this.

and it’s a terrible plan; he can barely keep his grip steady – she feels nothing like the warm fire of _skye_ , just an arctic cold that permeates the limbs and chases down vertebrae until there is nothing but ice in its path – but she’s watching him with eyes that scan for any kind of _weakness_ and he’s confident in this, if nothing else.

she has _always_ been his constant.

not even death can change that.

“i guess you can keep her in line. she’s exhausting to fight against day after day.” her eyes are shrewd and dark as she brings her hands to his neck, tightening with superhuman power. “in or out, pretty boy?”

ward bares his teeth in a wolf’s smile. “ _in_.”

and death grins like she’s just been handed the keys to ruling the world without any kind of consequences.

(she has.)

“i was hoping you would say that.”

his last thought before he’s overtaken completely is:

_sorry fitz._

*

 _there is_ no light _in this darkness._

**Author's Note:**

> WELP.


End file.
